


Gunpowder and Cinnamon

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, loneliness leads to sexy times, when you are dean winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hair was suddenly pervaded with the scent of watermelon, cinnamon and something else, something not quite human.<br/>Dean immediately turned his head, expecting to see a slightly tilted head and a pair of quizzical-looking blue eyes, but he saw nothing but trees and the dark-blue looking grass that was now slightly bent by the wind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunpowder and Cinnamon

Car wheels shrieked in a distance; a pair of headlights passed through the bedroom’s window, hitting the heavy dark green curtains, projecting strange figures on the opposite wall.  
Dean woke up with a start and sat on the bed, his heart thrumming heavily in his ears.  
He surveyed the room carefully with his eyes, suspicious of every single shadow, listening carefully to hear any noise. Finally, he relaxed.  
He could ear Lisa breathing gently at his side, her faint scent of lily rising from the sheets; he turned to look at her and he found her deeply asleep, long dark hair covering part of her face; he leant down and placed a feather-light kiss on her forehead.  
Then he rolled on his side and put his feet onto the floor, careful not to wake Lisa up. 

He walked into the bathroom, closed the door and opened the tap; he washed his face quickly and then looked up, inevitably meeting his own eyes in the mirror.  
He glanced at his own face, quickly surveying the small wrinkles that were starting to form at the corners of his too-green eyes; his attention, though, was suddenly caught by something else: the hand-shaped scar on his arm, still red and puffy and very visible through his white t-shirt.  
Dean shook his head, he took his eyes away quickly and splashed more cold water on his eyes, forehead and chin. He didn’t want to bring painful memories back, not now that he had just started to feel better, with Ben and Lisa being always so affectionate and caring with him.  
He really was starting to get used to live at Lisa’s house; he couldn’t say he actually fit in this new routine made of tedious barbecues, baseball matches and nosey neighbors, but he was fine, he really was.   
Some nights, though, he woke up abruptly in the middle of the night, Sam’s name almost a pray on his lips and a pair of impossibly blue eyes still printed in his mind.  
He never actually went back on those memories: he hadn’t been able of dealing with those strange feelings back when he still wasn’t broken, twisted and wrecked and he had his brother, Bobby and the angel by his side, and he surely wasn’t going to do it now.  
So he wiped his face quickly with a clean towel and then stepped out of the bathroom; once in the bedroom, he picked up a pair of jeans and his leather jacket form the chair that was next to the door, got dressed and finally got out of the bedroom and into the aisle.

He walked silently towards Ben’s bedroom, his steps muffled by the light-blue floral rug . He opened the door silently and he heard Ben snorting gently. He smiled to himself, looking with father-like affection at the boy’s face: he was very calm and serene in his sleep and few dark locks were falling on his eyes, only slightly moved by small puffs of breath.   
He went back into the aisle and headed to the back door and only then, with his hand on the handle, he put his shoes on.  
Then he practically ran to the garage, where he impatiently took the thick cloth sheet off the car, folded it and put it on the ground.  
He stayed a few moments in sheer adoration of his baby: the ’67 black Chevrolet Impala, with Sam’s little tin soldiers still stuck in the backseat’s ashtray and the trunk stuffed with guns, knives and, well, ash woods.  
He then opened the door and finally took place in the driver’s seat, took the wheel in his hands while the heavy scent of leather, dark beer and gunpowder tickled his nostrils.  
Some nights, when he took the Impala, he just drove all night long at a crazy speed, only the thought of Lisa and Ben at home preventing him from deliberately crashing against a streetlamp or against some tree. This night, though, he felt melancholic more than desperate, so he drove out of the garage, careful not to scrape the sides of his baby against the jambs, and headed to the small hill that towered on Lisa’s neighborhood.

Once there, he parked behind a tree; he took a silver knife and a bar from the trunk and sat on the grass near the Impala.  
All around, everything was utterly quiet and calm, the stars shining over the city’s smog and the full moon blinking through grey clouds. Dean started to sharpen the knife against the bar absent-mindedly, fighting to keep his mind busy with useless thoughts, to keep it and away from those painful memories that were always threatening to rush on him like a tsunami tide.  
All of a sudden, he heard a small noise, just like the drag of something on silk, and the hair was suddenly pervaded with the scent of watermelon, cinnamon and something else, something not quite human.  
Dean immediately turned his head, expecting to see a slightly tilted head and a pair of quizzical-looking blue eyes, but he saw nothing but trees and the dark-blue looking grass that was now slightly bent by the wind.  
He taught that his tired mind was playing tricks on him and resolved to go back to Lisa’s house immediately to try and get some more sleep before going to work.  
He threw the bar and the silver knife back in the car’s trunk, got back into the Impala and drove back home.

A few evenings later, Dean was sitting on the couch in Lisa’s drawing room, his head resting against a pillow and his feet on a small coffee table, watching some old Western movie with Gregory Peck. Lisa and Ben had decided to go to the cinema to watch the new Owen Wilson’s movie and Dean had faked a headache.  
The western was rather terrible, but still definitely better than a stupid comedy full of plastic hookers and smart-assess. Besides, the ponchos, the guns and the doubt-fires tickled his old-west fetish on which Sammy had made fun of him so many times before he…  
Dean shoved those painful back in a dark and distant corner of his mind and tried to focus on the TV box again.  
He was starting to fall asleep, his eyes becoming heavy, his mind foggy, while the pictures on the were TV getting more and more blurry.  
Suddenly, he heard that silky noise again and the air was filled with that familiar inhuman scent.  
Dean sat up straight on the couch abruptly, his heart thrumming heavily with expectation; he didn’t want to feel the burning disappointment again so he decided not to turn his head, and he tried to fall back into his sleepy haze.  
«Hello Dean».

Dean finally turned his head this time, shocked. He found Castiel standing behind the couch, dressed in his ever-present trench-coat, blue tie, white shirt and black slacks. Dean stared for a long time at the angel’s hands, at his neck, at his mouth, then he finally met his eyes, which had an indecipherable expression . His heart jumped a beat and he felt a knot closing his throat.  
He stood up and walked slowly towards Castiel, never dropping his look. When he finally stood in front of the Angel, he stopped for a moment: his heart was beating almost loudly in his chest, his breath wad hitching. He punched him with all the strength he could summon, right on the left side of his jaw. He heard his knuckles make a loud cracking noise, followed by sharp pain, and he let out a low groan. Castiel didn’t even frown.  
«Fuckin’angels».  
He saw the look on Castiel face turn form neutral to compassionate and his eyes filled with pity and compassion.   
«Don’t you dare looking at me like I’m some injured puppy, you ass-hat! Jesus Christ, Cass, you didn’t show up for a whole year!»  
«I’m sorry Dean, I have been very busy».  
«You left me alone, with no brother, no family, no safe place to rest my sorry-ass and all you can come up with is “I have been very busy”?».  
He started battering Cass ‘chest with punches that got weaker and weaker, until he was just resting his hands on the angel’s chest, his breath ragged and hitching, his eyes shut.   
Cass took hold of his chin, tipped it down slightly, looked at Dean straight in the eyes and repeated in his gravelly voice: «I’m sorry Dean».  
Dean sighed, caught off-guard by the angel’s sheer honesty, and Cass took advantage of his moment of weakness to close the small space between them, placing a soft kiss on Dean’s mouth with his surprisingly soft lips.

He had expected Dean to back off immediately, to shove him away violently. Instead, Dean fisted his hands in the angel’s trench coat, kissing him fiercely with his eyes shut.  
Castiel opened his mouth in surprise and Dean kissed him deeper. He licked the tender underside of his upper-lip and sucked on his tongue while slowly bringing him with his back against the wall.  
Castiel started kissing him more surely, nipping at his full lower lip, sucking at his pout and moaning softly against his lips. Those noises drove Dean wild and he felt his legs become weak: he wanted to hear Castiel make more of them, he wanted the always-too-compound angel to come undone under his hands and his lips.  
He pushed a leg between Castiel’s thighs and the angel moaned softly; Dean could feel him hardening in slacks. He left the angel’s tender lips with a light bite at his lower lip and started peppering wet kisses along his jaw, then on his chin and finally on his neck; he licked and bit at Cass’ pulse point and drew a long, deep groan from the angel’s mouth. The sound shoot straight to his groin, and Dean could feel his jeans suddenly becoming too tight. Castiel kissed his forehead adoringly and ran his hand trough Dean’s short hair.  
They locked eyes for a moment and Dean could now see in the angel’s expression nothing but complete adoration; Castiel’s eyes were impossibly deep and alight and they seemed to tell Dean: «I remade you. You’re mine». 

A thick haze of pleasure filled his mind and veiled his eyes and Dean dropped slowly on his knees in front of Castiel, dragging the annoying trench coat on the floor with him; he opened the angel’s fly slowly, then he pushed his trousers down with a quick move. He looked at the angel’s boxers, already tented and a little damp with drops of pre-come, and he only had a brief moment of hesitation before tugging them down, taking firm hold of the angel’s cock. He heard Cass’ take a deep breath.  
Dean looked up at him for a moment: the eyes of the angel were lust-blown, almost completely black, with only a thin ring of ocean-blue around the pupil. He moaned unconsciously and Castiel’s cock gave a twitch. He focused his attentions back on it and sucked languidly at the tip, making Cass cry out a loud «Dean!» and fist his hand in the back of his dirty-blond hair, tugging and scraping lightly into his scalp.   
He took Castiel deeper into his mouth, licking at the soft underside of his cock, focusing on his sweet-spots and jacking-off slowly what he couldn’t fit into his mouth. He looked up at Castiel through his lashes with a sweet look while playing a particularly spectacular trick with his tongue, moaning around Cass’s shaft and making him shiver. He took him as deep as he could and he swallowed a couple of times. Castiel let out a loud cry, like he was dying and it was Dean who was dragging him into oblivion. Then Dean drew almost all the way back with a long, wet noise.

Cass took firm hold of his t-shirt and hauled him up, bringing Dean to kiss him, deep and long; then he undid Dean’s fly quickly, pushed his pants past his knees and took hold of him, starting to stoke him slowly but firmly. He placed his mouth near Dean’s ear and said again, in a barely audible whisper: «I’m sorry, Dean».  
Dean sighed and canted his hips forward, Castiel’s unbearably slow strokes starting to drive him crazy. His legs started to shake violently and he knew he couldn’t stand on his feet any longer. He put his arms on either side of the angel, leaned closer to him and whispered into his ear in a broken voice: «Cass…bedroom, now».  
With a silky whoosh, they were suddenly in Lisa’s bedroom and they fell on the bed together, Cass on top of Dean.  
Dean clasped the angel in his arms, hugging him tight. He run his fingers trough Castiel’s black, messy hair and took a deep breath, wanting to get drunk on the angel’s scent.  
He never wanted to let him go: he started to kiss him lightly on his forehead, on his nose, on his eyes, on his lashes. He run his lips on Castiel’s mouth, then kissed him deep and sweet, brushing the angel’s jaw with his thumb, the other hand placed firmly behind his lover’s neck.  
Cass moaned quietly and Dean knew he couldn’t wait anymore.  
Then they undressed quickly, but Castiel fidgeted a bit with his tie and shirt, making Dean laugh and reach down to help him.  
But Castiel didn’t enjoy being mocked: he gripped Dean by his shoulders and shoved him on the bed, following him on his hands and knees, a predatory look in his beautiful blue eyes.  
He kissed Dean once, deep and filthy, then lowered down and licked and bit at his collar bone, drawing a litany of «Cass» and «Fuck!» from Dean’s mouth, while Dean’s hands grabbed his hips firmly, nearly leaving bruises.  
He put his hands on Dean’s thighs, spreading his legs wide open, then bent down and swallowed him whole without any notice. Dean couldn’t help but thrust in the angel’s tight and wet heat while moaning loudly, catching his kiss-bitten lower lip between his teeth and then releasing it.  
Just when he taught he was seconds from coming, Castiel brought himself up, laying flush against Dean’s body.   
«Jesus, Cass! Why did you st… ah!». The angel started to rock slowly, grinding their cocks together.  
He lowered his head near Dean’s ear again, he bit his lobe and said: «I want to be inside you, Dean. Can I be inside you?». He looked at Dean with earnest eyes, a slight blush flushing his pretty cheeks.   
«Fuck, Cass! Yes! Whatever you want! But move, I’m dying here».

He took Castiel’s hand from where it was resting on his thigh and brought it to his mouth, he bit his narrow wrist gently, then sucked on his fingers, making them wet, watching as the angel’s eyes got wider and his plush mouth slowly fell open. Then he guided the hand between his thighs, and only then he remembered that the mighty and wild being that was laying on top of him was, in fact, a virgin. So he looked up and asked: «Do you have any idea of what you’re doing? You’re not very practiced in this field, if I remember well».  
Cass didn’t answer: he gave him a quick smirk and circled his entrance, then put one spit-covered finger inside him to first knuckle, having Dean hissing and thrusting his hips down to meet Castiel’s hand. The angel pushed deeper, twisted his finger experimentally and he found that spot. Dean moaned raggedly and arched up from the bed, seeing bolts of light shooting behind his eyes, mouthing nonsense as the angel kept spreading him wider.  
«I believe I do, Dean».  
He pushed a second finger inside and then a third and moved them slowly, scissoring him until Dean was begging. «Fuck, Cas, please, now!».

Cass took out his fingers, having Dean whimper at the loss, and took hold of his own cock, aligning quickly and starting to push achingly slowly into Dean. But Dean had done waiting: he shoved himself down in a quick motion, taking Castiel in whole. Castiel’s breath was caught in his throat and he bent his head down, kissed Dean sweetly on his forehead and only then he started to move, setting up a painfully-slow pace that had Dean cursing and reaching for his own cock between their bodies. After a while, Cass’ thrusts started to become more erratic: they both knew they weren’t going to last long.  
Dean came first, painting his and Cass’ stomach with warm come; then he suddenly rolled them and moved on top of the angel, riding him quickly, while Castiel moaned and thrust up wildly.  
Dean put a hand on the angel’s chest to brace himself, while he gently caressed Castiel’s left cheek with the other one.  
Castiel came shortly after, clutching Dean’s forearms, his eyes shut and his mouth open.  
They laid together for a while, Dean tracing patterns on Castiel’s hipbones; when he heard Lisa’s and Ben’s footsteps outside, Castiel stood up and quickly got them both clean and dressed with the help of his angel mojo. When he noticed the pained expression on Dean’s face, Cass lifted his chin again, brought their lips together in a soft and brief kiss and said: «I’ll come back and we’ll find Sam. You will never be alone again, I promise. I love you, Dean».  
Then he vanished with a light noise of feathers and Dean sighed, a new and unfamiliar rush of hope filling his chest.  
«I love you too, Cass».  



End file.
